


I Spy

by TenyaTrash



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, CCTV, F/M, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-05 01:41:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17909588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TenyaTrash/pseuds/TenyaTrash
Summary: The MC is so, so bored.She wants to play.And Seven can't stop watching.





	1. The Strap

It all starts with an errant bra strap.

That’s it.

He’s checking the CCTV footage, just...doing his job, when he sees her in the kitchen, a cheerful blue strap peeking out from her cornsilk sweater. She’s just standing there, chopping daikon, not a care in the world, despite the lunacy of this whole situation. She bounces side to side as she cuts, probably humming to herself. 

And the strap just sits there, a brilliant line of blue highlighting the soft curve of her shoulder. Like a flash of lightning against the night sky. 

His face flushes, he’s not sure why. He twiddles his thumbs against the keyboard and slips on his headphones. He wonders what she’s listening to. He shakes his head. 

Focus.  
-

It’s late in the night or early in the morning. Time loses meaning when you’re wrapped up in code, and windowless rooms don’t help. His eyes slide over to the CCTV feed. She's on the couch now, scrolling through cat videos online, her dinner plate forgotten off to the side. She tucks her feet underneath her body and leans in to inspect some new detail in her kitten video. The strap is still staring up at him. She shifts a little bit, and for a moment her whole shoulder is exposed. If she turns just 15 degrees, he’s sure he’ll be able to see the start of the cup that cradles her. He wonders if it’s blue too. 

He slaps himself upside the head. Bad. Bad Seven.  
He shakes himself and logs into the messenger. He needs to warn their new coordinator, remind her that she’s on candid camera. Just in case. With Rika, he never checked, but….well, V ordered him to keep an eye on her, and he’s V’s slave. 

So really, this is the only option. For modesty. And chivalry. And....self-preservation. 

-

She lights up when she sees 707 slide into the chat. Her favorite member is here! She’s been so bored, all day. All week really. Staying cooped up in some strange apartment is not great for her mental health, no matter how many cuties she gets to chat with. But Seven always makes it fun!

**707 has entered the chatroom.**

>   
>  MC: Our hero returns! 
> 
> 707: The defender of democracy here~!
> 
> 707: And low on MP. Fading.
> 
> 707: Fadeeeeee
> 
> 707: Beeeep
> 
> MC: Oh no! MP critical! Quick! Take these!
> 
> 707: Are these--
> 
> 707: Could it be?
> 
> MC: Honey Buddah to the rescue!
> 
> 707: Senses returning!
> 
> 707: You’ve healed me! MP at 70.7%!
> 
> MC: ^^ Anything for God Sevenyyy~
> 
> 707: Haha. 
> 
> 707: …
> 
> 707: My efficiency is still down T-T.
> 
> MC: I’m here to help! You work too hard~!
> 
> 707: >_< Ahhh but I’m not working enough. 
> 
> 707: Madame Vanderwood is going to hit me with a mop. 
> 
> 707: And bury my body. And light my babies on fire. TT-TT
> 
> MC: Your maid is very diligent! And scary~~
> 
> 707: T-T she is
> 
> 707: I just need to do better! 
> 
> MC: How did you manage before? Is it because I joined...?
> 
> 707: The hacker doesn’t want me to have beauty sleep T-T.
> 
> 707: he wants me to be as smelly as Madame Vanderwood. 
> 
> 707: ~but God Seven will not be defeated!
> 
> MC: No one can defeat our 707!!
> 
> 707: *nod nod*
> 
> 707: Seveny will increase efficiency!
> 
> 707: and catch the hacker
> 
> 707: and keep the RFA safe
> 
> 707: and survive the shadowy underworld of chip trading.
> 
> 707: Yup!
> 
> 707: Just remember! God Seven is always in your heart!~~
> 
> 707: And watching your security cams~~
> 
> 707: Don’t forget!
> 
> 707: afds
> 
> 707: I smell Vanderwood. 
> 
> 707: Ok ok bye bye~~
> 
> MC: Good luck Seven~~  
> 

**707 has left the chatroom.**

She smiles down at her phone and stretches out in bed. Well then. That was a good waste of...she checks her watch...10 minutes. She tosses the phone on to her nightstand and sighs. Back to boredom. She flips back through the chat log and giggles at Seven’s antics. He always finds a way to brighten her day. 

But, that’s not exactly hard to do. She blows a strand of hair out of her face and crosses her arms behind her head. Life has been boring for awhile, if she’s being really honest with herself.

After all, if things were exciting, she never would have gone along with this at all. The RFA might think that she joined because they threatened her with a lawsuit, and maybe that was a bit true, at least at the start. But the truth is, she was bored before she ever found the phone. She wouldn’t have connected with ‘Unknown’ and followed him down this insane rabbit hole if she’d had anything else really going for her. Every day of her old life was the same. Wake up, morning routine, exercise, shopping for essentials, then back home to log in and complete her contract work. Most days, she had to come up with some pretense just to leave the house. The day she found the phone, she’d convinced herself she needed to leave to get the components of a new fried chicken recipe. Instead, she’d ended up with, at least for the moment, a new apartment, new volunteer job, new friends, and new love interest. 

Wait...love interest?  
Well...maybe.  
  
She smiles softly and thinks of how Seven makes her feel.  
  
_Alive._  
_Excited._  
_Young._  
_Hopeful._

She unhooks her arms from behind her head and runs her hands down to her cheeks. She can feel them flush under her fingertips. She wonders if he can see her, if he knows what she’s thinking right now. If his heart would beat a bit faster, knowing she’s laying in bed, thinking of him. 

He did say he’s watching.  
She hopes he is.  
She brushes her fingers over her lips and closes her eyes.

She hopes he’ll never stop watching.


	2. The Workout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regular exercise is important.

It’s midmorning, and he’s distracted.  
She’s just now leaving dreamland.  
It’s…a hell of an awakening.

She wakes up softly, like a kitten who doesn’t want to be dragged out of a dream. Honestly, it’s pretty cute. Seven is used to waking up to aggressive beeping, loud warning alarms, proximity mines, or Vanderwood standing over him with a gun, stick, or taser. But she...she wakes up with her body, and there’s something shockingly intimate about the way sleep slowly leaves her, eyes fluttering and body moving in waves. It’s...entrancing. 

He wonders what it would be like to lay there with her, nothing but the sun and their own bodies telling them when to wake, or when to sleep. He thinks about how freeing it must be, to owe your time to no one but yourself. To be able to savor every shudder, every gently huffed breath. 

He feels like a lecherous creep. 

Seven shakes his head and forces himself to alt-tab away from the scene of her softly fluttering eyelids. He’s visually confirmed that she’s still there, still alive, and still alone. Watching any longer would be…taking advantage. 

He dives back into the darkness, trying not to notice the increasingly loud part of him that wants to stay in the light. With her. 

-

Across the city and through the screen, she finally wakes up. She’s in no rush...her schedule is wide open, with her contracts ahead of schedule and her social calendar tragically thin. And she was having just the loveliest dream. Dreams of waking up to a certain redhead who could no longer bear to be apart from her, a shadow in her room who disconnects the cameras and whispers secret truths that cut deep to her core. She can’t help but smile. 

It’s a good dream.  
One of the best.  
Because unlike flying, or fighting a dragon, or curing some grand disease and saving the world, this dream feels possible. 

She opens her eyes, and there’s a new glint there. A certain mischievousness that would make Seven quake in his hoodie, if only he was watching the feed. 

She doesn’t want to overstep any boundaries.  
She doesn't want to make him feel unsafe.  
But...  
She does want to play.  
And she thinks he does too.  
She just needs to give him an opening.  
And anyway, regular exercise is important.

-

She nibbles on her lip as she scrolls through the party app, answering emails and reading through light-hearted Yoosung drama from the night before. She debates shipping him a book on video game addiction, but figures she’ll let the others handle their LOLOL warrior for now. Just when things are getting dull again, Zen appears.  
Perfect! He’s just who she needs to get this little play underway.

**Zen has entered the chatroom.**

>   
>  MC: Hiya Zen!
> 
> Zen: Good morning!! Did you eat?
> 
> MC: Yep! Chomping on oatmeal right now!
> 
> Zen: Huh? Chomping? Are you sure you cooked it properly?
> 
> MC: lolol. Nope. But I’m just having a quick meal anyway pre-workout. 
> 
> Zen: Ah! Someone else who cares about health in the RFA. Finally~~
> 
> MC: Don’t you smoke?
> 
> Zen: …
> 
> Zen: Alas, even this beauty has flaws, I admit.  
>    
>    
> 

**Seven has entered the chatroom.**

Ah, a sign of life. She has to resist the urge to bounce up and down...after all, he could be watching. With a smile down at her phone, she scoops the last of her cup of oatmeal into her mouth and heads to the kitchen to wash up. When she gets back, she makes a big production of turning on the tv and dropping into a set of light stretches, still checking her phone in one hand. 

She knows he likes her, it’s clear every time they talk.  
What’s not clear is if he feels the same, deeper pull, that she does.  
This should help clarify that.

>   
>  MC: Seven!! Good morning, oh God of hackers. 
> 
> 707: heya. 
> 
> 707: Be careful when you leave for your jog. We’re still tracking the hacker.  
>    
> 

She smiles and strips off her shirt before pushing the glass-topped table to the side, in a pretense of making space to work out. Behind the screen, Seven very nearly chokes to death on his PhD Pepper. An interesting way to go, given his options. He is an elite hacker at a shadowy agency, a man who has spent years learning to keep cool under any situation. But..she’s not wearing a shirt.

She’s not wearing a shirt and she’s still talking to them.

>   
>  MC: Oh, don’t worry! ^^ I remember what you said, so I’m staying in. 
> 
> MC: You can work up a real sweat at home, if you have the right tools.  
>    
>    
> 

He chokes again. She must not realize how that sounds. It’s just his perverted mind. He’s reading too much into this. His eyes keep flicking to the long lines of her body in that sports bra and shorts. It almost feels like she's putting on a show, just for him.

>   
>  Zen: How wise. I should get a home gym so I don’t cause traffic accidents with my beauty! 
> 
> MC: Yes! You must protect the public from your radianceeee.  
>    
>    
> 

She places the phone in front of her face and drops into a deep v, stretching her lower back and, she hopes, giving a certain someone a hell of a midmorning snack. She can’t help messing with him a little bit more.

He’s suddenly very glad for the hacker. Otherwise, would she be outside? Wearing that? Doing that? His cheeks are on fire, and his brain is….doing bad things. Bad, bad things.

>   
>  MC: Seven? 
> 
> MC: Earth to Seven?
> 
> MC: Oh no, I think we killed him, Zen. 
> 
> Zen: Our beauty is too dangerous!  
>    
> 

Seven snaps back. Right. This is a normal conversation on a normal day about a normal topic. He shouldn’t make it weird. AFKing is weird.

> 707: haha, here. Just….working.  
>    
> 

She starts jumping in places and stretching side to side, hoping that this sports bra is as flattering as she remembers. It is. She’s strapped in enough to exercise, but with every bounce, there’s still a bit of a show.  
Perfect.

His fingers send the message before he can stop it.

>   
>  707: Be careful. Lots of accidents happen. 
> 
> 707: With home exercise.  
>    
>    
> 

Oh for the love of-- he hopes she doesn’t realize he’s watching her, but she jumped awfully close to the end table that time.

>   
>  MC: Thank you for thinking of me Seveny~~
> 
> Zen: ?
> 
> MC: Seven’s just looking out for me!
> 
> 707: lolol. 
> 
> 707: God Seven is always watching!
> 
> 707: Ready to protect the RFA.  
>    
>    
> 

Just then, she throws a look over her shoulder and-  
Wait, was that a glitch? Or did she just wink at the camera? He’s in trouble, especially with what she sends next.

>   
>  MC: I’m so glad. I **love** knowing you’re watching over me ^^
> 
> Zen: I feel like you two are having a totally separate conversation. 
> 
> 707: That’s...my job. 
> 
> 707: Uh, gotta go!  
>    
>    
> 

**707 has left the chatroom.**

>   
>  Zen: Huh. Agency stuff, I guess?
> 
> MC: Sounds like something came up that he needed to handle.
> 
> MC: lolol
> 
> Zen: Between the two of you, a man could get awfully confused. 
> 
> MC: I’m sorry Zenny~~ We’re just teasing each other.
> 
> MC: Imma afk to finish this though. Talk to you later!
> 
> Zen: Have a good workout! Send a selfie~  
>    
>    
> 

**MC has left the chatroom.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MC enjoys playing with fire. 
> 
> Blockquotes are really annoying but the best way I can think of to represent the chat rooms, so please bear with me. T-T


	3. The Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, heres where we earn the rating, everyone.
> 
> Seven and his lady love share in an early morning fantasy.

She opens her eyes and stretches out languidly, one hand reaching down to keep her shirt from rising up immodestly, the covers long since kicked away in the heat of the night. Then she remembers the cameras and thinks better of her drowsy attempt at decency. She still lets her hand fall to her stomach, but this time she drags her fingers upwards, catching the soft fabric of her oversized sleep shirt and dragging it up, up, up. 

The well-washed fabric passes the dimple of her belly button and rises further, slithering across the soft hills and valleys of her lower ribs, until her delicately cupped hand comes to rest just under the swell of her left breast. She closes her eyes and juts her jaw forward as she arches the crown of her head into the pillow, letting the other hand splay across her barely covered hip while this one caresses her breast, one thumb slowly passing across her nipple in an attempt at finding some sort of relief. She exhales and bites down on her lower lip, imagining another’s hands so reverently cataloguing her aching and arching body. As she slowly rubs her legs together, she desperately hopes he’s watching.

_Please, God, be watching._

-

Seven is coming undone, and he’s almost past the point of caring to stop himself. 

Normally, he likes it when she sleeps. It’s a few hours a night where he can work, largely uninterrupted. It’s safe, it’s easy, it’s wonderfully boring. When she’s active, it’s torture. Sometimes she walks off, out of the shelter of his cameras, leaving him to panic in anxious uncertainty until she reappears, alone and unharmed. He hates the feeling. It makes him feel small and powerless and sick. More than once, he’s felt compelled to hack into the CCTV systems of nearby banks, shops, and traffic cams, just to catch a glimpse. Sometimes, she stays on camera, and it’s somehow worse. Her jubilation, her passion, her life...it awakens something dark and primal in him, and at his worst moments, he can almost swear that she’s provoking him deliberately. That she’s putting on a show, a seduction, just for him. That she’s using her body to worship at the altar of God Seven.

God, he’s a creep. A narcissist. A sick voyeur, preying on the innocent shamelessness of a woman he can never have. His reactions last night, and his panting perversion at this morning’s unexpected show, just proves it. But, no matter the name, Luciel is no angel, and when she starts to grope herself, his baser self wins. His hands start to mimic her movements, one hand falling into his lap while the other snakes up his shirt and brushes across his own nipple. His eyes follow her every sensual breath, unblinkingly drinking in the sight of her, all bed-tousled hair and aching want and God, the thin line of red lace that crosses her hips and delves between her thighs, covering her from his hungry eyes. 

He lets his imagination win.

He imagines her smiling to herself secretly, shimmying into the red lace as a special treat, just for him. Imagines her smiling down at him as he nuzzles her thighs, hooking the lace with his teeth as he pulls them down her legs and lets his canines graze her tender flesh. He imagines what it would feel like, smell like, be like, to hook her knees across his shoulders and feast on her like a man driven mad with a hunger that only she can sate. He thinks back to her fitful dreams last night, to the way her body undulated and her fists clenched in the too-big bed, as if she was drowning in a sea of covers and needed him to save her, needed his touch to ignite her. Imagines that this moaning morning is her begging him to come for her. To come with her. To make her his. When she gasps and pants, he imagines that she’s calling out his name, all his names, the ones he’s lost and the ones he’s claimed.

Of its own volition, his hand finds its way from hip to his groin. The long fingers at his chest skitter down his midline to meet their twins, flying across the rivets of his belt and the teeth of his zipper as he works to free himself, to join her in this early-morning exploration. All at once, he’s a hormone-addled teen again, totally at the mercy of the vision flickering across his monitor.

His eyes never leave the screen, not as he pulls himself from his boxers, not as his tongue darts out to moisten chapped lips, not as his panting breaths threaten to fog up his glasses. He’s lost in the moment, lost in his own personal demon, and he can no more stop now than he could outswim a tsunami.

Later, he’ll hate himself for this.  
But he needs it. He needs her.  
He needs the lie.

He’s stretched to his breaking point, and no amount of sleep-deprivation, or work, or imagination is helping stem the tide of his overwhelming lust. His body is doing its best to lubricate itself, and even through the haze of his lust, he dimly realizes it won’t be enough. Not for the punishing pace that he yearns for. He should...get something, do something. There must be something...maybe in the kitchen? He’s halfway through swiveling his head towards the cabinets when movement on the screen drags him back in.

Her hands are moving from their posts, one traveling up to her mouth, where plump lips and shining teeth wrap around first a thumb, then an index finger. She pops it in and drags it out slowly, eyes still closed and body still twitching in time with her movements. And her other hand? Oh, God, her other hand. It’s migrated from her hip to the valley between, fingers in tight formation as they slowly disappear into a field of red lace. She’s fucking herself, he realizes. 

He spits on his hand. Fuck it, it’s good enough.  
He can’t miss this. He probably can’t even walk right now. 

His spit covered hand returns to his cock and fuck, he can almost imagine it’s her mouth as he pumps into his own fist, his fantasy aided by the thin line of spittle that he can just make out on the screen, connecting her panting mouth to her saliva-covered fingers. He imagines that there’s just a door separating them, rather than half a city. Imagines that those cameras and that girl are in his bedroom, that this is just foreplay. He can see it, feel it, so clearly. 

_He’d open the door, to where she lay panting and sweating for him. She’d look up, all big eyes and dewy skin, every line of her begging for his touch. He’d shuck off his shirt and crawl towards her, pushing her desperate and slickened hands into his hair as his tongue replaces them, nose rubbing against her clit as he tongue fucks her, surprising her with his skill. She’d squirm and grind herself into his face as his fingers tightened around her thighs, locking her in place. He’d hear her pants and feel her come and he’d keep going, keep devouring her until she was trembling and begging him to stop. He’d press messy kisses into her inner thigh as she dragged him up from the floor, letting him rise above her as she hungrily kisses her own taste off of his smirking lips and reddened cheeks. He’d feel her feistiness as she’d push her hands into his chest and use her recently un-jellied legs to flip them so that she’s the one on top. Still breathless and smiling, she’d try to return the favor, not realizing that just the taste of her has left him rock hard and desperate to bury himself in her in ways no one else ever could. He’d only manage a few flicks of her tongue, a few deep moans and thrusts across those swollen lips before he’d drag her up in mimicry of her earlier movements. He needs more, and he won’t last if she keeps tasting him like that. He can almost feel himself as he pushes into her and lets their bodies become one._

His back arches, eyes struggling to stay on the monitor. She’s close, and even though this is all a lie, even though they’re separated by so much more than just a door, he wants to come with her. To connect, even for a moment, in shared ecstasy. 

He finds the will to slow down his desperate pace, trying to match the flick of his wrist and the length of his strokes to the time set by her delving fingers. He sees her tremble. He sees her back arch further than before, sees the way her eyes fly open and her mouth gasps unheard words. As she comes, he imagines that she calls out his name, and it’s that thought that sends him spiraling over the edge, into his own release. He collapses over his desk, a wave of orgasmic bliss carrying him past concerns about the ethics of his actions, or the logistics of cleaning up the copious amount of cum that he’s splattered across his monitor, desk, and pants. 

Back at the apartment, she comes down from her own haze, cheeks tinged scarlet with her own surprisingly intense orgasm, and her surprise at the words she shouted while lost in her passion for a man she’s never met. Well...if the surveillance system has audio, the cat’s out of the bag. She wonders how he’ll react. Will he feel flattered? Disgusted? Intrigued?

She meant to stay coy, keep up her plausible deniability. But when her climax came and the earth shook, all she could pant out, all she could scream, was Seven. 

_“Seven. Oh, fuck, oh god Seven. Please. God, please.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time ever writing true smut so...
> 
> Yeah. Hope it's as good for you as it was for them?
> 
> Edit: I was originally planning on continuining this through their meeting but I'm just not feeling it right now. So instead, I'm calling this complete and will continue their story later on when the muse strikes. Thanks for reading everyone!


End file.
